


The Thing

by peevee



Category: due South
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-06 17:44:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3143036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peevee/pseuds/peevee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Fraser. There ain’t no help for me out here, ‘sides you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Thing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ghoulkitten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghoulkitten/gifts).



> I uh. Don't really have an excuse for this. Blame ghoulkitten? She wanted to see due South omegaverse, and I obliged in the spirit of (late) Christmas.
> 
> Unbeta'd: please feel free to point out glaring/not so glaring/downright stealthy errors.

This is their routine:

First, Fraser crawls into the tent. He undresses, redresses, goes about his nightly ablutions (three quick swipes of his cloth in the relevant areas, a swift five minute dental hygiene routine), and slips into his sleeping bag.

"Come in, Ray!"

Ray barrels into the tent, shivering and rubbing his hands and puffing his cheeks.

"Jeez, Frase, it's cold," he says, every night.

"I think my balls froze right off today, Frase," he says. "I can't feel my nose. What if my nose falls off, Frase?"

"I can see your nose, Ray," Fraser might say. "It's not frostbitten, Ray, I'm sure."

Ray might present his nose for inspection, or his ear, or his toe.

"Very pink," Fraser might say. "The tissues are quite alive."

And Ray will huff and puff and gargle a bit of toothpaste, he'll wriggle into his bag and shiver and shiver until he falls asleep with an unsettling suddenness.

It's torture.

Fraser lies, shivering for entirely different reasons, next to him in the dark. He knows the shape and sound of Ray's breathing, knows the familiar scent of him, salty-sweet, sweat dark and addictive. 

And if he can't sleep, it becomes more torturous, because Ray _moves_. 

It begins with him edging closer, until they're side-by-side in the skinny confines of the tent. Fraser breathes slowly through his mouth as Ray inches, wiggles in tiny increments, heat seeking. His nose might end up in Fraser's neck, tucked into his collarbone, under the curve of his jaw, huffing out tiny puffs of warm air and Fraser shivers and lies still and presses his teeth together. 

-

It’s not a problem. Not at all.

Fraser is aware that he’s lying to himself, but denial seems to be the only reliable way to stop himself just falling forward and pressing his face into Ray’s neck every time they’re standing close to each other. 

“Lt. Welsh,” he didn’t say, when he met Ray, “my urge to lick the detective known as Ray Vecchio has increased noticeably.”

“Uh?” Welsh didn’t say in return.

“Yesterday, I would have happily told you that it was nonexistent. Today, I would comfortably rate it as ‘manic’.”

"Uh-"

"I almost bit the nape of his neck this morning, standing behind him at the water cooler."

"Fras-"

"That was around 12 minutes and 28 seconds after we met."

 

No. No, of course he didn’t say that, and now Ray is curled up into his side, making odd little snuffling noises in his sleep and smelling like absolute _heaven_ and Fraser is very, very hard. He breathes through his teeth; in, out, in, out, in out. He flexes his toes; up, down, left, right, up, down, left, right. 

Ray sighs, a tiny puff of warm damp air on the underside of Fraser’s jaw. 

“Oh,” Fraser says, involuntarily.

“Whuh?”

Ray smacks his lips together, hums a little, squirms a little.

“Nn. Sorry Fraser. Crowdin’ ya.”

“No,” Fraser manages. He stares at the seams of the tent for several minutes, and when Ray starts to snore, he maneuvers himself slowly around in his sleeping bag and plants his face into the cold, cold groundsheet.

-

“Frase,” says Ray, several weeks into the quest.

“Yes, Ray?”

“I, uh.” Ray scratches his neck. “I-”

His voice hangs awkwardly in the crystalline air. They’re breakfasting; pemmican and hot black tea, and Fraser is half-distracted by the vista ahead of them. What had been a blizzard the previous night has settled into a fresh, soft layer on top of the pack. They’ll make double time on the sled today, if the weather holds.

“Sorry Ray, what did you say?”

“I didn’t. Hell, I don’t know how to--that is, it’s a little--I mean--”

“Ray.”

“Okay, okay.” Ray finishes his tea in one long swallow. “You know,” he waves his hand at himself, “about the thing.”

“The thing,” Fraser echoes.

“The thing! The,” Ray lowers his voice. Fraser leans in. “The _omega_ thing.”

Fraser narrowly manages to avoid leaping backwards, and thanks the freezing air for the colour already in his face.

“Er, yes Ray, I know about that.”

“Okay. Good.”

“Was that all?”

Ray is tearing little pieces off his pemmican, which fall to his lap. “Nah, Frase. It’s… it’s a little embarrassing, is what it is. I ran outta my stuff.”

“Your stuff?” Fraser says, before he can think. “Your stuff, oh! I see, Ray, oh. At least I think I see.”

“My stuff, for the heat and stuff. I mean, I ain’t ever been all that regular, so it might not--but if it does…”

“I understand completely. Rest assured, Ray, that I will take care of you.”

“Um,” says Ray, his face very red. 

“You should be comfortable in the tent, and I’ll stand guard. I can stay alert for several days with very little sleep. In fact, once, when I was paddling down the Yukon River dressed only in the skin of a bear and my left sock, I--”

“Ah, okay, that’s great Frase. That’s really great.” Ray scoops up his shredded pemmican and shoves it in his mouth. “Thanks, buddy. I can always count on you.”

-

“Fraser,” says Ray, in the dark, and Fraser knows exactly what he’s going to say. He can smell it - has been able to smell it for the last fourteen hours, give or take, and has only refrained from mentioning it to avoid embarrassing Ray.

“I know,” says Fraser. The effort not to lean over and cup Ray’s jaw or smooth his feverish forehead has him trembling.

“Fuck,” Ray murmurs. ‘I’m sorry, Frase.”

Fraser fumbles with his jodhpurs; hearing Ray curse makes his fingers clumsy, his ears tingle with heat.

“Shh, Ray. It’s quite alright, but I have to--I have to leave now.” He pulls on his boots without lacing them, feeling his nostrils flare when Ray gives a little sigh. The air inside the tent is warm and - oh goodness - _fragrant_ , and he tugs a little shakily at the zip, eager for the crispness of mountain air to clear his head. Ray moves, twisting, and Fraser is dizzy in waves, eddies of Ray like a lap lap lap against his self-control. He finally manages the zip, and just about falls to his knees in the snow outside. 

It’s a cold, dark night, and he must keep guard for Ray.

Outside, something in his head feels like it slips back into place, and suddenly he’s shaking with relief, a little sick at himself. Dief whines and pads over to nose at his hand, woken by the commotion and grumpy because of it.

“You’ve had a full four hours and you know it,” Fraser says, scratching him absently. “Stop sulking.”

Dief huffs, and sits on his feet.

“I know. Ray isn’t well, so we have to look after him.”

His clothes smell of Ray, and there’s nobody but Dief around to see when he buries his nose in his scarf and inhales. 

“Oh, be quiet,” he says, muffled in the scarf. “Something fresh for breakfast wouldn’t go amiss, you know. He’ll need the energy.”

Fraser purposefully steers his thoughts away from what Ray will need his energy for, as Dief snorts and huffs unconvincingly, before racing off towards the treeline with a gleeful bark. Much as he tried to be casual about it, it’s rather obvious that Dief adores Ray and would do anything for him. 

Fraser sets a fire a good distance from the tent and melts snow for tea. It’s one of those icy-clear nights where the moon is full enough to cast shadows, and Fraser sips his tea, eyes set on the dark shape of the tent against pale snow. He’d like to say that he tries not to listen, but he only makes it to his third cup before the stillness and the darkness makes it almost impossible not to hear things. 

Things like: Ray swearing softly. Ray moving around inside the tent. Something unzipping. Ray making short, cut off little cries, which turn muffled as if he’s pushed his face into something. Ray swearing loudly. Ray saying _Fraser, oh_ like it hurts him, and Fraser is dropping his tin cup to the ground and standing up, and Dief is leaping at him, knocking him flat on his posterior. There’s a hare hanging from his jaws, and he pants happily in Fraser’s face.

“Your breath is dreadful,” Fraser tells him, too dizzy to stand for several moments. 

They skin the hare in silence (Dief helps by pouncing on the hide and licking it; Fraser has always been a staunch defender of licking), the well-remembered movements helping to clear his mind. The sky doesn’t precisely brighten, but the moon sets and the light stays grey, by which Fraser estimates the time to be approximately 8:30am.

The smell of cooking clearly makes its way to the tent, because the zipper inches down and a pale, fuzzy head pokes out.

“Food?” Ray croaks hopefully. 

“Stay where you are, Ray.” Fraser tucks his scarf up around his nose, presses fresh snow into his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I’ll be over shortly.”

“I can come over. Just, m’all tangled and--”

“ _Ray,_ ” says Fraser.

He pours some hot beans into Ray’s tray along with the meat, melts a little snow and maple in his mug. 

“It’s a bad one, Frase,” says Ray, as Fraser is putting the food outside the tent door. He’s zipped up again, but Fraser can still smell him, and, now he’s close, hear the quickness of his breathing. Sweat prickles on the back of his neck. “If it gets much worse--”

“You’ll be perfectly fine,” Fraser interrupts him a little sharply. “And if you’re not, well, medical help--”

Ray laughs. “Fraser. There ain’t no help for me out here, ‘sides you.”

He pulls the zipper down a little, and peers out at Fraser, his eyes dark and shining in the greyish morning light. His hand darts out for the tray and the mug, then he zips up again quickly. Fraser listens to him wolf it down, and can’t make himself move away. 

“You know we can’t,” Fraser says quietly. There’s a long silence.

“Fraser,” Ray says again. “You gotta know I’d do anything for you.”

“I know that, Ray.”

“We’re friends, ain’t we?”

“The very best.” Fraser breathes very deeply into his scarf. He should move away right now, back to the fire, where the meat is most probably charring.

“I’m asking you, Frase. I’m asking you to do this for me. Please.”

Fraser closes his eyes. When he opens them, the tent is unzipped, and Ray is shakily putting the tray outside. Fraser clasps him gently by the wrist to still him, and Ray makes a low gasping sound.

“You’re sure you need this.”

“I ain’t--I _know_ myself, Fraser. I know how it gets. I wanna be able to ask you for help like a regular person, before I won’t make sense from wanting you.”

His words feel like fingertips, slicking over Fraser’s skin. Ray is flushed and lovely and is looking at him with such simple trust that it makes his heart feel like it’s overflowing.

“How do you want me,” he manages, and before he’s even finished the sentence Ray is on him, dragging him clumsily inwards. There’s a clatter as they knock the mug into the tray, Fraser’s boots are getting snow everywhere but it’s so hot inside it melts in seconds, Ray giving off heat in feverish waves.

“In me, Frase, you gotta--” Ray tries to straddle him and open his trousers at the same time. He’s naked; how had Fraser not noticed that he was naked? He _smells_ wet, on his fingers, and on his body where he’s touched himself, and his hands are shaking on the buttons. 

They struggle Fraser out of the most inconvenient of his clothes, until he’s left in his boots and undershirt, trousers yanked open. It’s not until Ray slides down onto him with a sob that Fraser’s head falls back and he realises he’s still wearing his hat.

“Frase,” says Ray. His thighs are trembling on either side of Fraser’s waist, and he keeps licking his lips. 

“Yes, Ray?”

“Could we, uh--” he stops, mouth dropping open, and Fraser digs his fingers into the slippery material of his sleeping bag. 

“Ray?”

“Switch,” Ray says, blinking. “I think you’re gonna have to, uh. Thighs ain’t what they used to be, you know?”

Ray’s thighs are, in fact, mouthwatering. Fraser smooths a hand up each, against the grain of his soft blonde hairs, then grasps Ray’s buttocks and flips them around, using the opportunity to shove his hat into the corner of the tent. 

Ray goes gratifyingly limp, legs falling sideways and Fraser sort of falls into him, face in his sweet-smelling neck.

“Oh, Ray,” he says, mouth apparently completely beyond his control.

“Nn,” says Ray. Fraser licks his neck, and his collarbone, and his jaw, the soft curve of his ear.

“Gonna knot me?” Ray sighs, and Fraser groans and licks his mouth and feels a little like he may spontaneously combust, however statistically unlikely it may be. One of Ray’s hands comes up to cradle the back of his head even as he spreads his thighs wide. “C’mon, Frase.”

Fraser is undone. He can’t do any more than clutch at Ray and do as Ray bids him. He comes almost as soon as they’re knotted, but he doesn’t even have time to gasp out an apology before Ray is squirming and kicking his heels out and coming _on_ Fraser, God help him. He keeps his face buried in Ray’s neck and hopes that it might stop him from saying all the ridiculous things that want to come spilling out of his mouth. 

“Shh,” Ray is saying, “okay Frase, it’s okay.” He feels a couple of gentle pats on the top of his head, and oh, Ray must think he’s upset. He should make sure Ray is comfortable, but it’s like his limbs are made of water, and Ray smells _so good_ and so he just rolls a little so they’re side by side and lets Ray stroke him. 

After a little while, Ray starts to move restlessly.

“Sorry buddy,” he says hoarsely.

“I’m at your service, Ray,” Fraser gasps, only half-joking, pulling on his sticky hips to make him moan. Ray comes all over his hand, and Fraser presses his teeth against Ray’s neck and breathes the scent of him. 

“ _Jeez._ ”

“Ray.” Fraser can’t quite stop himself from moving to cup his hand under Ray’s jaw, running a thumb over his cheek.

“Yeah, Frase,” and it seems like an answer to a question neither of them have asked. Fraser kisses him.

Softly, at first, and then harder, rougher, Fraser feeling like he could devour Ray when he’s like this; sweetly pliant, eager and smelling like heaven.

-

The sun is low on the horizon by the time Ray’s fever begins to break. Fraser leaves him lying slack in a pile of bedding and goes out to tend to the restless dogs. Diefenbaker gives him a sideways look, but eats his frozen meat without complaint.

“He asked for help,” Fraser says. “I can count on one hand the number of times Ray has asked for my help, and in this instance I was able and willing to provide him with a specific solution.”

Dief makes a short snorting sound.

“Well, no, I suppose my actions weren’t entirely selfless.”

Fraser sits heavily next to the ashes of the fire and pushes his hand through his hair. There’s silence, punctuated by the ungodly noises of one who can’t hear themselves eat consuming a meal.

“Do you suppose I did the right thing?” he asks, when Dief finishes and begins to lick his fur. Dief whines, and puts his head on Fraser’s knee. Fraser gives him a scratch behind the ear.

“You’re right, as always. Well,” he stands and dusts off his knees, “we’ll be on the open road again tomorrow.”

-

Inside the tent, Ray is curled up tightly in his nest of sleeping bags. He blinks when Fraser crawls through the zipper.

“Water?”

“Here, with a little maple; it’s good for fluid loss.”

Ray smiles at him, a slow, sunny thing that spreads across his face. “You’re blushing,” he says. “Frase, are you blushing because you had to say ‘fluid’?”

“It’s um,” Fraser says, mouth dry. “It’s more the, er, _nature_ of the, um. Fluid. In question.”

Ray sips the water slowly, his hand sliding up Fraser’s thigh.

“We just spent seven hours with your dick in my ass, Frase,” he says, low and raspy, and Fraser feels himself twitch. The hand slides higher, and Ray is still smiling and naked and smelling like he belongs to Fraser.

“You smell like you’re mine,” Fraser murmurs, then bites his tongue, grimacing. It’s like he can’t control himself, all the ridiculous things he wants to say to Ray just spilling out of him like water. “I’m sorry Ray, I shouldn’t have--that was--”

Ray just smiles wider. There’s a reddened mark on his neck from Fraser’s mouth, and his thumb comes up to rub at it even as he uses his free hand to pull Fraser down between his spread legs. 

“Yeah,” he agrees, tipping his head back, sliding his fingers slow, slow up over Fraser’s ribs. “Yeah, I do.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Spawning Season](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3637497) by [jediseagull](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jediseagull/pseuds/jediseagull)




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